


Defender

by LadyWallace



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale accepts his friend for who he is, BAMF Crowley (Good Omens), Conflicted Crowley, Crowley uses his demonic powers, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Protective Crowley, Supportive Aziraphale, gen - Freeform, hurt aziraphale, very light angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-02
Updated: 2020-03-02
Packaged: 2021-02-28 08:28:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22966942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyWallace/pseuds/LadyWallace
Summary: Crowley usually tries to avoid channeling his truly demonic side. But all bets are off when someone threatens his angel. (gen)
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 15
Kudos: 196
Collections: Hurt Aziraphale, Satias Good Omens





	Defender

**Author's Note:**

> For Whiskerdrops on FF.net :) Because I couldn't decide whether I wanted to do funny or angsty demonpowers!Crowley so this is kind of a companion piece for "Inner Demons"
> 
> Obligatory Warning: Due to the fact that I do not have a professional editor on call, this story probably contains a couple typos--enjoy.

"Aziraphale!"

The angel was flung through the air by the demon before Crowley could reach him. Drops of precious blood flew outward to spray across the ground, making Crowley see red in more ways than one.

Aziraphale hit the ground heavily and skidded to an abrupt halt against the stone wall of the alley where he crumpled, staying still, blood staining his clothing.

"No!" Crowley shouted, struggling against several of the other fiends who had come after them as he fought to reach his friend with everything he had.

The demon who had been fighting Aziraphale leered at Crowley, obviously enjoying his helplessness, as he advanced on the angel's prone form, kicking the sword Aziraphale had lost to one side.

"You can't save him now, snake. But I must say, I will enjoy having you here to watch him die slowly by my hand."

"No! You bastard!" Crowley struggled again, but the demons were holding him tightly.

Aziraphale stirred with a groan, looking like he was trying to get his hands and knees under himself, but he was shaking and blood blossomed from his injuries, a new one decorating his forehead that was dripping blood into his eye.

The demon looked at him with mocking disgust. "Give up, angel," he sneered, kicking Aziraphale in the side. The angel cried out and slumped against the wall again before the demon reached down and grabbed a fistful of his hair, dragging him to his knees as he took his wicked blade and gestured toward Crowley with it. "Let's give your friend a show, shall we?" He grinned and got behind Aziraphale, making an obvious spectacle of pulling the angel's head back to expose his throat, tickling the blade against his pale skin.

Crowley met Aziraphale's eyes, seeing the fear, but also the quiet determination, the strength.

That's what broke Crowley the most. Aziraphale being strong. _For him._

That wasn't going to do this time. And Crowley certainly wasn't going to let his friend be killed in front of him. Not while he drew breath.

He reached deep inside himself, drawing on powers he rarely used, fueling them with his rage and desperation. His eyes widened, the yellow pupil filling out so that his entire eye was covered. His teeth sharpened into fangs, and he hissed dangerously, forked tongue sliding between his teeth.

With a cry of fury, he wrenched free of the demons holding him, plunging one of his hands, which had now grown claws, into one demon's chest and throwing another hard against the side of the alley, where he fell with a limp thud.

Crowley brought his wings out, flaring them in challenge. He was free now and though the demons still on their feet reached for him, he was already gone, thrusting his wings back in their faces.

The demon holding Aziraphale was watching with interest that turned to stunned fear as Crowley broke from his captors' grasp and launched himself at the demon.

He nearly flew over Aziraphale's head, to tackle the demon to the ground, the two of them tumbling into a snarling heap. But Crowley was on top, and he had one clawed hand around the demon's throat, strangling him.

The demon lashed out with the blade and Crowley felt it bite into his ribs, but hardly took notice.

"Crowley!" he heard a familiar voice calling as if from far away, but he didn't really pay much attention.

The demon under him choked, clawing at Crowley's wrists, and Crowley slammed his head into the ground with a snarl.

"No one touches the angel!" he hissed, tongue flicking out. "No one!"

The demon was terrified and, it seemed, chastened, because he started to melt into the ground, escaping back to Hell, away from Crowley's wrath.

Crowley snarled in anger, lashing out and slashing the demon across the chest before he disappeared completely. He then surged to his feet and spun toward the other demons, transitioning more into his snake form, scales appearing over his face and hands. The second he hissed and took a step toward them, they looked like they were about to wet themselves and sunk as quickly as possible into the ground, tails between their legs.

Crowley stood there panting for a long moment, looking around for more flesh to tear into, his clawed hands flexing with need.

But finally the muffled voice he realized he'd been hearing all along got through his rage-reddened haze.

"Crowley! Please, my dear, it's over. Calm down, now."

Crowley took a sharp breath, and spun around, for the first time since the fight, seeing the angel kneeling behind him. For a second the blood covering his friend nearly sent him into a rage again, but there were no more enemies. There were more important things to worry about now.

"Crowley, it's okay, it's over." Aziraphale offered him a small smile, though the demon could clearly see the concern in his eyes.

He forced his hands to relax as guilt washed through him, the claws disappearing, his eyes turned back to normal and his fangs retreated. He slumped, nearly staggering as he felt a wave of exhaustion.

"A-angel?" he murmured.

Aziraphale sighed in what seemed to be relief, and his smile broadened. "There you are, dear."

Crowley collapsed to his knees, for the first time feeling the sting in his side from a wound he hadn't remembered receiving. He reached out a hesitant hand to touch the angel, but pulled back at the last minute, looking away. Aziraphale probably wouldn't want him to touch him. How could he after seeing that? Crowley had never shown that side of himself to his friend. It had been all brutality and…and demony-ness. Crowley tried to keep that buried as deep as possible.

"Crowley?" Aziraphale asked, concern back in his voice.

Crowley shook himself and stood quickly, cringing as the wound across his ribs protested. "Er, we should get going. I'm gonna get get the car."

He hurried away and part of him didn't want to face Aziraphale again, but the angel was hurt and there was no way he would leave him there in this alleyway.

He drove back and found Aziraphale had retrieved his sword and was trying to stand on his feet. Crowley froze, for a second, thinking the angel had grabbed the weapon to defend himself against Crowley, but he was attempting to use it more as a cane than anything, a wound in his side making it difficult for him to stand.

Crowley swallowed hard and hurried to his friend's side, ducking in to support him. When Aziraphale didn't flinch away as he had suspected, he helped him the rest of the way to the car.

The drive back to the bookshop was silent and Crowley kept glancing at Aziraphale, who was slumped to one side, eyes closed as he pressed a hand to the wound in his side. Crowley swallowed hard. He needed to know how Aziraphale felt about what he'd done. But at the same time…he didn't regret it. There would have been no way he could have fought all those demons unless he had channeled his demonic energy. As much as he hated it, it had saved his only friend's life. And as long as Aziraphale was alive, Crowley didn't care if the angel was afraid of or disgusted with him or not.

At least that was what Crowley tried to tell himself.

He offered Aziraphale a hand and helped him into the bookshop, taking the angel straight to the back and settling him onto the couch. Aziraphale practically collapsed with a sigh, his face creased with pain. Crowley swallowed hard, hating to see his friend hurt, and backed away.

"I'll go fetch the first aid things," he murmured.

"Crowley, wait."

Aziraphale surprised him but grabbing his wrist. It was Crowley who flinched at the angel's touch, not the other way around as he had feared. He stiffened, and glanced down, for the first time realizing he still had the demons' blood on his hands, staining the cuffs of his coat.

"What's wrong with you, dear?"

Crowley looked up to see Aziraphale's concerned gaze, and nearly scoffed.

"What's wrong? How can you say that after what I just did?" he demanded.

Aziraphale cocked his head to one side, blinking in confusion. "What do you mean?"

Crowley pulled away from him, hugging his arms around his thin chest. "What I did to those demons! Come on, angel! You can't tell me I didn't go too far."

"But you didn't even kill them…or, well, not more than one maybe," Aziraphale said. "I think you showed restraint."

Crowley choked out a humorless laugh. "Restraint? Angel, I was barely hanging on to myself at the end! If you hadn't…I don't even want to think of what might have happened. I hardly ever tap into that side of myself; what if I hadn't been able to rein myself in?"

Understanding dawned on Aziraphale's face. "Ah. You were frightened you would hurt me too."

Crowley stiffened, realizing the angel had somehow hit the nail on the head. He bit his lip and looked down. "You mean to tell me you weren't scared?"

Aziraphale just looked at him fondly. "Well, that depends on what you mean. I'll admit you cut a rather frightening figure—the demons certainly thought so—but never once was I scared you would hurt _me_." He reached out and patted Crowley's arm. "You did that to _defend_ me."

Crowley sniffed, but realized Aziraphale was right. Even in the depths of his rage, his only concern had been keeping the angel safe. Perhaps his powers scared him more than they did his friend.

"I trust you with my life, Crowley," Aziraphale said sincerely. "Today was no different."

Crowley sagged and nodded, finally offering a small smile. "And I trust you with my life too, angel," he replied. "And to keep things that way, I need to take care of those wounds."

Aziraphale smiled tiredly and slumped back. "It would be appreciated, dear."

After tending to both of their injuries, Crowley finally allowed his exhausted body to slump on the couch at Aziraphale's side after turning on the radio—since the angel didn't have a television.

The exertion of tapping into his little used powers had really taken a lot out of Crowley and he finally slumped, eyes closing wearily.

Right before he slipped off, however, he felt a gentle hand card through his hair fondly. A small smile touched Crowley lips and he let out a small pleased hiss. He was so grateful to be friends with this angel. Of course he would defend that friendship with everything he had.

He knew Aziraphale would do the same for him.


End file.
